


Static on the Radio

by AdamantSteve



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Delayed Orgasm, F/M, Femdom, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha rides Steve and won't let him come for a <i>long</i> time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Static on the Radio

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt "I would loooove Nat dommeing the hell out of Steve and him loving it. Riding his super-soldier cock but not letting him come until she says." from [ShinyKari](http://shinykari.tumblr.com). However, I didn't actually use Steve's name anywhere here so if you wanted to you could probably squint and read it as Natasha and Tony or Natasha and Bruce or whichever male character you like. 
> 
> Beta read by [dunicha](http://dunicha.tumblr.com).

It wasn’t every night, but it was often enough that he started to leave his door unlocked just in case. It was always entirely on her terms, and when he made the mistake of asking for it she ignored him for a week, and he was so used to waiting for her permission he couldn’t do it on his own anymore. Not without her scraping her fingernails down his chest and biting him hard enough to bleed, whispering her orders into his ear.

 

Sometimes she’d come in when the lights were off and stand on the bed above him, pressing a pointed heel into his thigh as she waited for him to make himself hard, which never took long. She’d trail those shoes all over him, balanced impossibly on one foot as she threatened his most sensitive areas with tiny prods, smiling when he flinched away and doing it again. 

 

He never refused her, he didn’t know how. When she’d ride him for hours she’d tell him he just had to say the word. But he didn’t know if that meant she’d leave him unfinished, left there hard and aching and unspent. All he really wanted was to please her, so that she might come back and do it all over again. 

 

He was always reaching for her, neck craning as he tried to get his mouth on her perfect skin, always moved just out of reach before he could taste her. She’d lean back and pinch her own nipples, making a show of everything he wasn’t allowed to have. He wanted to touch her, taste her, take something for himself, but all she let him have was this: sliding down on him and using him for her own pleasure, his only job to stay still and stay hard. 

 

“ _Natasha_ ,” he would plead while she rocked back and forth on his cock, trying to ruin him. Lit by the New York night she was a beautiful demon sent to torture him for sins unknown, smiling cruelly and scraping a sharp fingernail over a nipple. “Not yet,” she’d say almost sorrowfully. She’d tighten around him and ride him harder still, coaxing it out of him til his entire universe was concentrated on not letting go. Til all he could feel was an ache and whatever sharp pain she blessed him with as distraction: a slap, a bite, a yank of his hair. 

 

If he bucked up into her, which sometimes he did unwittingly, his body taking over when his mind checked out, she’d slap him hard across the face. “Nyet!” She’d scold, like he was some unruly child, not a man that she was endlessly torturing, using, fucking.

 

It was a marvel, how he could feel so hot and sore and exhausted and ragged and she would still be going, still moving on his treacherous cock, his balls high and ready, so goddamn ready to be done already, tip over the edge and come, come, come til he was emptied out. Never again, he’d tell himself, mind delirious and gone, he’d never be able to do this again, hold out for so long, but she’d come back and he’d still touch himself for her, looking up at her standing over him, still do whatever she wanted.

 

When she was getting close she’d curl in on herself, grow suddenly smaller, moving so minutely she was barely moving at all, breaths shallow and light, and he’d think it might finally be over, that she’d graciously slide off of him and tell him to do it, come all over himself as she tugged on his balls or brushed the tip of his cock. But that was usually a play too; she’d stop, pant, perfect white breasts heaving in the low light before she’d slowly start again, winding her own orgasm back up as he willed his own ever further away. She’d go faster and faster, sweat glowing on her skin as she drew it out for _days_ , til he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

 

When she’d finally had her fill, her soft sighs and tiny movements ratcheting up til she came with a silent cry that sounded like pain, her muscles convulsing around him, she’d stay still and look down on him like she couldn’t believe he was still hard and thrumming inside her, that none of her dirty tricks had worked to make him lose this bet or whatever it had become now; that he was still waiting for her. And she’d climb off, clumsy now and as graceless as she ever got, fit herself next to him and even then draw out the minutes, toying with his cock til she’d give the order; a hot breath in his ear that turned his world into static on the radio, a nuclear explosion, a universe of stars colliding; his voice hoarse shouts of nonsense and her lips suddenly on his as if to eat them too, take even those from him after she’d taken everything else.

 

He could bat her hand away and she would stop now, like he’d paid his dues and for all he’d wanted to touch her, now she’d leave him be. He’d stare at the ceiling and feel her eyes on him, looking over her handiwork with pride. He’d feel proud too, sweat slick and beyond exhausted but with a job well done behind him, and he’d do it again, whenever she asked and however she wanted it. He’d wait for her, he’d come for her, anything.


End file.
